A person isn't who they are during the last conversation you had with them - they're who they've been throughout your whole relationship.

Understand, I'll slip quietly away from the noisy crowd when I see the pale stars rising, blooming, over the oaks. I'll pursue solitary pathways through the pale twilit meadows with only this one dream: You come too.

We are the bees of the invisible. We madly gather the honey of the visible to store it in the great golden hive of the invisible.

Painting is something that takes place among the colors.

Music: breathing of statues. Perhaps: silence of paintings. You language where all language ends. You time standing vertically on the motion of mortal hearts.

Draw near to Nature. Then try like some first human being to say what you see and experience and love and lose.

You must give birth to your images. They are the future waiting to be born.